


As You Wish

by geniewithwifi



Series: All At Once [10]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, F/M, Holy Roman Empire, Roman Empire AU, Slave!Oliver, princess!felicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewithwifi/pseuds/geniewithwifi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He presented a puzzle, an enigma she was dying to discover....his scars spoke of many battles, as a gladiator would have, he did not have the prestige, nor the experience of the ring. He was an unproven slave who had come out on top. "</i>
</p><p>(Roman Empire AU) One is a royal and the other is a slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuperSillyAndDorky06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSillyAndDorky06/gifts).



> This is a gift for Supersillyanddorky06. I hope she likes it!
> 
> Not beta'd. Any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time she saw him wasn’t in the ring.

The first time she saw him wasn’t when she was higher than him, her, cast in the shade and him in the sun, muscles glistening in the sun’s heat, fighting man or beast.

No, the first time she saw him was the day she had slipped down to the streets incognito and noticed a young man, not much older than herself, give a loaf of bread to starving children haunting his doorstep. Felicity had stopped, feet entrenched in wonder from the simple act.

Fate was kind that night, for he glanced up, taken her in, judging, and smiled his approval. It wasn’t a lecherous stare she would find in her father’s court, or an envious air from a lady-in-waiting. His gaze was a bestowal of approval, a veil of comfort. His smile blinding from genuine joy. She had smiled in returned and hurried off, keeping that rare grin in next to her heart.

Fate was cruel. That carefree smile of five years ago vanished under grief, dirt and pain. Felicity hardly recognized him.

Felicity had been required to attend today’s entertainment, an order directly from her father. Her books would be taken away did she not deign to grace the arena with her presence. After an hour of watching prized fighters lose their life to other men, the groaning of the crowd echoing around when a favorite fell to his opponent’s blade. Felicity became sick of the blood, the gore, the stench wafting up from the pits below.

She was about to excuse herself to her father, feigning lightheadedness, when the game masters released the slaves. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of familiar blue. Felicity’s attention captured, she viewed, with growing horror, the clenching of her gut increasing the more the throng around her cheered, a massacre. Every time a man died, a crunch of bone or the sucking sound of a sword, she stared at that man’s face, looking for the blue.

When only four slaves remained she found them. Those blue eyes she recognized, no longer lit up from hope but weighed down with darkness. Tanned skin failed to hide his well-toned body, her eyeful sending warm blood to her navel. He was handsome. All that fell to the wayside when she realized his opponents all had swords, their sharp tips glinting, refracting light. He, on the other hand, held a simple long bow, three arrows left.

The trio came to a silent decision, advancing on the archer. Calmly, with precision rivaled only in the highest of her father’s army, he took them down, one after the other, until he was the only one left. Her champion.

Shaking off that last thought, she turned to her father who was to decide if the slave would live or not. Relieved to find the thumb up for life, Felicity confided in her companion.

“Get me something of his, it doesn’t matter what. An arrow, his quiver, a drop of his sweat. Something!”

Her maid did something better.

She got the man himself.

Two days after the match, her precious books still in her possession, and the handsome slave stood in her private room. His head was bowed, hiding his eyes from her perusal. His bare chest was covered with scars, big and noticeable, telling of a rough past. 

He presented a puzzle, an enigma she was dying to discover. What had happened in the last five years that had taken him from a delightful presence on the streets to a life filled with condemnation and death? Though his scars spoke of many battles, as a gladiator would have, he did not have the prestige, nor the experience of the ring. He was an unproven slave who had come out on top. 

“Your highness,” he mono toned, his low voice making her very aware that she was a woman and he was most definitely a man. Just staring at him caused the juncture between her thighs to become wet. Felicity removed from her perch on the bed, approaching him. When she rose, he immediately knelt, right hand crossed over his chest in the prime example of fidelity. 

“Rise,” Felicity hesitantly touched his warm shoulder, his skin shivering under her touch. After a few moments of hesitation, he obeyed her command. 

“What is your name?” he met her gaze with almost black eyes. Her tongue wetted her dry lips from the heat there. 

One blink and a dull veneer hid the passion from her view, a humble slave once more. That small act of rebellion that had escaped heightened the fire in her blood. 

“I am called Slave, as all under his Imperial Majesty are named.”

“Surely you have a name, from before you became as you are.”

“I have no name, Your Highness.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you have a name. A citizen of this country, from right here in this city, does just not have a name. I want to know what it is. I promise I won’t share it. But I can’t very well call you “slave” every time I want you.”

“That is custom, your Highness.” 

“Name, please. And stop with this ‘Your Highness’. It makes me feel weird.”

“But that is who you are. You are ‘Your Highness’ and I am slave. Forgive me, I spoke out of line. Your Highness.”

He had cringed, bracing himself for the punishment she was sure to inflict, his tone turning apologetically, begging her to forgive his blunder.

Felicity would use this as leverage. “Your name and it is forgotten.”

His turbulent eyes implored her. “But Your High--”

“Your name!” Her harsh tone bit at him. His eyes dropped, mouth twisted in a frown. 

“Oliver. My name is Oliver.” He neglected the title. Relenting, because she had obviously pushed him past his limits, her hand moved to his check, lightly running the pads over his scruff. 

“Oliver. Why are you here?” 

“Because Your Highness requested me.” The tone in which he spoke had traces of confusion. The question baffled him. In truth, she had no idea why he was here either. 

“What?” Felicity tilted his chin up until he was forced to look at her. “I requested you?”

“Your maid,” he jerked towards the door, “told me you wanted me.” Felicity thought he was almost implying something else. Playfulness hinted in his eyes, proving her inclination. 

“But I just wanted one of your arrows!  Embarrassment bruised her cheeks. She stepped back from him, desperate for him to understand, although his face, cheekbones, beard and  _those eyes_ tempted to distract her.  “You know, like someone who admires your work. I didn’t want you-you!” In her distress, she had turned away from him, only to whirl back straight into his naked chest. He hands unconsciously traced from his pecs down to his abdominal muscles, tightening under her ministrations. 

Oliver bent down towards her, whispering in her ear. “Well, now you have me. How can I serve you, princess?”

Flustered, she pushed him away. “I have no need for you today,  _slave,”_ reminding him of both their stations, (or was she in need of the convincing, a little voice asked). His teasing manner fell immediately, and once again he stood at rapt attention. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

That reminded her. “One thing, before you go. You can call me My Lady, Princess as you have been, or Felicity. I don’t want you to call me Your Highness ever again. Am I clear?” A sharp nod. “Good. You are dismissed.”

Within seconds, he had vanished. But the heat from his skin lingered on her palms for hours after. 

* * *

 

For months, they had a ritual, Oliver and her. He would come to her rooms, kneel, and offer up his service to “my lady”. On rare instant he called her “princess.” 

She came to care for him, dwelling in his comforting presence. Felicity would always ask him to do the most trivial things, like fetch a scarf at the foot of her bed. She did just so she had an excuse to see him, not that she was incapable. But Oliver always complied, a soft smile hidden behind his frown.

The worst days were when her father required him to fight. He was a slave, after all. A soon to be Gladiator, if he won twenty fights. Felicity attended everyone, holding her breath that he would somehow make it through. She told herself that she shouldn’t be so concerned for a slave, but that didn’t stop her worrying hands.

Felicity gave him a token, one of her scarves, telling the world that he was _hers_ on a day that dawned dark and moody. Thunder and lightning crashed over the populace head, rain whipping around the arena. Oliver slipped in the mud, his sword coming up too late to block the blow. His opponent’s sword cleaved into Oliver’s side, just under his plate, a spray of blood covering his armor. Felicity’s scarf had been cut. The remnants fluttering in the wind.

Felicity gasped, standing in horror as Oliver fell, his opponent coming back for a death blow. Miraculously, the referees stopped him, hauling both Oliver and the other fighter off, the former a deathly pale color, the latter kicking and fighting.

Her father departed, signaling the rest of Rome to exit the arena. The games were done. Her maid covered for her as she flew to the prison, desperate to see him.

The guard shoved her away. “I’m sorry princess, you can’t go in there.”

“By who’s orders?” How dare they keep her away!

“The Emperor’s.”

Felicity internally swore. Her father never approved of her having a male slave. She was “too precious to be soiled by a filthy slave”. His words, not hers.

“Is he at least being attended to? By a doctor, someone?”

“Slaves aren’t to have medical attention.”

“No! You let me in there right now! Please! He’s _my_ slave, and I demand that he be treated.”

The guard refused, having his companions drag her out. Her worry for Oliver, the memory of his gentle blue eyes kept her from doing something they both would regret.

That night she snuck down, supplies in her hand. She had read enough to be fairly proficient at healing. After apologizing to the guards, accompanied by a drugged barrel of wine, she grabbed the keys and dashed down past the cells, glancing in everyone. Near the end she found Oliver, a cloak pressed into his side, lying on dirty straw, still in his rusty armor.

“Oh, Oliver.” She whispered, slowly opening his cell door, crouching down next to him.

“My—my lad—“he coughed, a juicy sounding noise.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. I’m going to fix you up.”

“You don’t need to do that milady. I’ll be just fine. It is but a scratch.”

She leveled him with a look. “Don’t give me that Oliver. It’s more serious that you’re giving it credit.” As quick as she could, without giving Oliver unnecessary pain, she poured alcohol over his wound, him howling but gritting his teeth through the agony. Sweat beaded his brow which she wiped with the soiled cloak. Carefully, she wrapped the wound.

“There, it should be clean now. Try not to move, alright?”

“But I’m supposed to serve—“

“Damnit Oliver!” She whispered furiously. “I don’t care right now. You need to get better, that’s the best way you can serve me. Heal. Please.”

He gave her a shaky smile. “If it’s you asking I’ll do it.”

“Good.” On impulse, she kissed his cheek, before her eyes widened in surprise and she hustled out of the cell, running back to the palace.

Three days later, he was back in her rooms, bowing to serve her. Except it was different. Amid the desire that swept between them, there was another emotion in his swirling eyes—gratitude. 

* * *

One day, everything changed. He entered to find her crying, sobbing next to her open air balcony. She barely glanced at him, motioning for him to go away. Instead he approached, gathering her against his bare chest. She huddled to him, basking in the heat he expelled. 

He waited several minutes before speaking in a low voice. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, not wanting to answer. 

He sighed in exasperation. ‘Come on, you always feel better after you talk.” Still, she denied his request. “Felicity,  _please._ Talk to me.”

Oliver had never said her name before. Even though she had given him permission that first day, he’d refused, sticking to decorum as much as she would allow. 

So she told him because she loved the way he said her name. She told him of how she was made fun of by her sisters because she had not given herself to a man. She was untaught in the way of the bedroom. Normally, Felicity didn’t care, but lately that had changed. She confessed to Oliver, someone who had become a friend beyond her blatant attraction to him, that recently she had asked questions of her siblings, but Helena and Isabel had laughed and teased her. They told her that no man would want her so why she want to know?

Oliver drew her away from his chest, angling her chin up. She saw the compassion and tightly held anger in his eyes. “Felicity. Why-- I-- Who? Who is it that you’re trying to impress?” 

Was that. Jealousy hidden in his words? The ridiculous man. She turned to him fully. 

“You.”

Oliver gazed at her, his strong arms encasing her, supporting her. For the longest time she gazed back, letting him search and find his answer in her eyes. He must have found something because suddenly he was kissing her, insistent and passionate. She melted into the kiss, blood racing, feeling his heart under her hand beating strong and true. He ran his tongue over her lips, making her gasp and he plundered her mouth, tasting every corner. Instinctively, she stroked his tongue with hers, igniting a moan from him, his hands dropping to her hips and positioning her squarely in his lap. After moments of unparalleled bliss, of wet heat and shared passion, Oliver pulled back, showing her that smile that had gained her attention that first day. 

“I can show you... If you want.”

“I want!” She said excitedly. He chuckled. “Then let me show you how it’s done. You’ll never be ridiculed again.”

He took her by the hand and led her to the bed, where he proceeded to love her, caress her, kiss her, like a man who had been dying in the desert and she the oasis.

Oliver’s hands held her close, took her to the edge, traced her hips, tugged on her hair in perfect rhythm with his body. The weight of him, pressing her to the bed, encasing her in such love that she realized something. She had been blind to it, because of their stations, because of who they were. As she climax Felicity realized the one thing that had been escaping her.

She loved him.

* * *

Lying against his chest, his arm around her stomach, she asked the question that had been plaguing her since she had seen him in the arena, all those months ago.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm?” His fingers were tracing circles near her hip.

“What happened to you?” She flipped around to face him, her chin propped up on his chest.

A cloud appeared in his eyes, the gentle smile fading.

“Why would you ask that?”

Felicity bit her lip, hesitant to share this with him. What must he think? “I saw you, one day in the market, about five years ago. You gave bread to hungry orphans. You had such a carefree expression, then.”

“What happened is my father died.” His voice was harsh, brittle. “He had debts to powerful people. Upon his death, they came knocking. My mother and I had no way to pay them. I was inducted to his majesty’s army, my mother--- “he couldn’t say the word, shaking his head. “ I don’t know what happened to my sister.

“I served your father faithfully until I was given an order I didn’t agree with. I was to kill three children for stealing food from the army. I rebelled, tried to get the kids to safety. I was caught, and those children were killed anyways. Instead of an officer, I became a slave. And now I’m here.”

Felicity gazed at him, searching his emotions. “I’m sorry Oliver. Hey,” she cupped his check as he tried to look away, “Oliver, it’s okay. I love—“

The door burst open, a guard marching in. Felicity scrambled to cover herself when her father walked in the door.

“Arrest him!”

“What! No!” Two guards grabbed Oliver, dragging him out of bed, away from Felicity who fought to hang on to him.

“He is accused of seducing the Princess Felicity. As such, and as a slave of the Empire of Roman, he shall be punished—by death. Take him away.” They took Oliver, who had bowed his head, no resistance, out the door. Felicity turned to her father.

“Father! Please!” He whirled around.

“I will deal with you later. No cover yourself woman. Make sure she doesn’t leave this room!” The last was addressed to a guard who slammed the door behind him.

“No! No!” She sobbed, sliding down the wall, burying her head in her knees.

There she stayed for hours, hearing the echoing roar of the crowd. Her mind, her sharp brilliant mind turned, coming up with plan after plan to get Oliver out, to save his life.

She had only one option.

It was sunset by then, the sun dipping below the city. She quickly dressed and snuck out her window, an act she was accustom to. Quickly she ran towards the arena, the roar of the crowd guiding her. A blur of light she slipped past the royal guards, the gladiator owners and snarling beasts. She ran out to the platform, where Oliver knelt, his head on a rock with a Roman standing above him

“Stop! STOP!” Felicity threw herself over him, putting her body in between his and the axe.

“If you’re going to kill him,” she cried to the crowd, flinging the word to her father in defiance, “then you’re going to have to kill me.”

“Get her out of there!” Felicity heard her father. The man above tugged at her, but she just wrapped herself tighter, gripping Oliver.

“No. Whatever his punishment, I will suffer it too.”

The emperor had left his box and was striding across the arena floor.

“Why, daughter mine, my precious. Why would you do this? He _ruined you!_ Soiled you, took your precious virtue—“

“I gave it freely! I _love him._ And if you kill him, I will kill myself so that I may join him in death.”

She could feel her father sigh. “But,” Felicity continued, at a softer tone, “You could be merciful. Banish him. Banish him and I will go with him, and we won’t return. Father, please. If you ever loved me, do this. Leave us be.”

“Very well.” He replied, after some time. “You, Your Royal Highness Felicity and her Lover Oliver Queen are banished, hence forth from the Roman Empire. You have until midnight to leave Rome and never return.”

With that, her father left. Felicity could feel the scornful looks her sisters were giving her but she didn’t care. She had Oliver—she didn’t need that family. Oliver was her family.

After slicing his bound hands, he met her gaze, searching for something. Whatever he found he embraced her, crushing her to his bare chest.

“You love me?” he hesitated. Her hands came up to draw back, creating a bond through eye contact.

“Yes, Oliver. I love you. I love you so much.”

He buried his head in her neck. “I love you too. Felicity,” she shuddered at the pleasure from hearing him speak her name, “I love you. Thank-you.”

They left Rome that night, heading north, until they left the Empire behind. It was hard, it was rough but it was worth it. Because they were together.

 

 


End file.
